


Caught (Medic x Bulimic!Reader)

by SnedictheMedick



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Bulimia, Eating Disorders, F/M, M/M, Purging, Reader-Insert, Team Fortress 2 - Freeform, Triggers, Vomit, Vomiting, binge eating, bulimic, bulimic reader, bulimic!reader, medic x bulimic!reader, medic x reader, medic/reader - Freeform, tf2, tf2 medic - Freeform, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-08-28 15:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8451727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnedictheMedick/pseuds/SnedictheMedick
Summary: You had your duties, how could you be letting this awful sickness get in the way? Oh, well. The only thing that mattered to you right now was emptying your stomach. You couldn't risk getting caught, but it had to be done. What will happen when Medic finds out about this darker side of you? (Depicts reader bingeing and purging, if this could trigger you please don't read!)(Reader is gender neutral in this!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Last warning that this contains depictions of self-induced vomiting and bingeing! Please don't read if you know this will upset you, make you uncomfortable, or trigger you. Thank you.

_I wanna stay inside all day_  
I want the world to go away  
I want blood, guts and chocolate cake  
I wanna be a real fake

 

It was the middle of the night and you had stayed up pacing and thinking for hours. All you wanted to do was eat. You had the supplies, your stashed away candies and chip bags and soda. It was all there in the bottom drawer of your dresser. You were trying so hard to distract yourself from the want, the _need_ to binge. But as time went on, it was proving more and more difficult to restrain yourself. No one knew about your eating disorder, hell, even you wouldn’t acknowledge it yourself. But this was a fatal mistake. Obviously they would never let you have taken this job if they knew. You thought of your family back home, the reason you were here. You had to send them money, and what better way than mercenary work without the dying part? 

 

After another twenty minutes went by of you nervously glancing between your bedroom door, the food stash, and your own reflection in your vanity mirror, you finally caved. A few stress induced tears leaked from your eyes as you knelt down in front the drawer. Your hands trembled as you reach out and opened it, revealing that which you have been trying desperately to avoid. Something awoke in you at the sight, you felt the hunger and craving before, but now… Now this was an animalistic urge that couldn’t be stopped. Candy bar after candy bar, greasy, fatty, sugary, sweets and snacks quickly filled up your stomach. When you came back to your senses, or maybe half so, you realized the implications of your actions. You stomach turned and now you you could think of nothing else but the disgusting contents within you. Panic washed over you and had to the need purge every bit of what you had just consumed.

 

You stood from the floor, a quick glance to the vanity and you knew what you had to do. You quietly opened the door to your room, glancing both ways down the hall to make sure was clear. Of course it was, it was nearly 3:00 am. With weak legs you quietly walk down the hall. When you arrived at the bathroom you reconsidered for a moment. No. I have to do this. This is what I deserve. You thought. You went into one if the stalls and locked the door, despite your sureness that there would be no interruptions. You'd been with this company for almost a year and done this a dozen times, but you almost never used the base bathroom to purge. You most often resorted to going to nearby forest or even travelling into the closest town. Desperate times call for desperate measures. You bent over the toilet so that your head was lower than your stomach, and pushed two fingers down your throat. You tried to suppress the sound of your gagging, thankfully you had much practice under your belt. Thanks to the soda, mouthfuls of junk food rose up easily. The fizz did make it burn even more though. But you kept going. Sometimes just mouthfuls of soda would spray out, other times tougher chunks of chips and other foods would get caught in your throat momentarily sending you into terror until you quickly dislodged them with another heave. When you finally emptied your stomach and tasted nothing but bile, you sunk back against the stall door. Heavy tears trailed down your face and you did not attempt to hold back the sobs that wracked your body. Saliva dripped from your mouth and coated you hand. You leaned forward spitting into the toilet remainders of your midnight binge. Bits of food dislodged from you nasal cavity that had been pushed up there by the force of your puking. You were entirely enraptured in your own head, fog clouded every inch of your brain. Nothing but negativity and self hate filled your mind. You were in trance, ritualistically wiping vomit off the porcelain seat with toilet paper. Totally engulfed in yourself, you did not hear the clunking of heavy boots walking into the bathroom. You heard someone clear their throat and you froze in fear.

 

“Excuse me, liebling.” It was the Medic. Oh, no. Oh. Fucking. No. Why him?! Anybody but him, please! Not only did the idea of a doctor knowing about you terrified you, but if anyone was going to tell the uppers about this it would be him. “Please. Open the door.” If you weren't shaking before you were now.

 

“How”, you voice cracked and you tried to clear the phlegm from your throat. “How long have you been here..?” You asked weakly. A short pause ensued.

 

“Long enough. Please, don't do anything rash. I just want to speak with you. Open the door.” he spoke firmly, warningly. You considering flushing away the remain of your gluttonous actions but decided he might get angrier. You rose slowly trying to regain your composure but your body was not having any of that. Your saliva slick hand rested behind you and you other unlocked the door, slowly swinging it open. The Medic stood before in his casual wear. Smart beige vest and white button with sleeves rolled up. Not that you were processing that. The only thing you would look at is the tiled floor. You dared not meet his eyes. 

 

“I'm sorry.” You choked, overtaken by tears once again. You weren't sure why you said it. This is ridiculous, you are trained killer. How could you let this happen, now everything was ruined. Why do I ruin everything?! The Medic looked surprised for a moment. He wanted to ask what you were doing, but it was obvious to him. He was up doing late work when came to the toilets and heard you. At first he thought you were sick, but then he heard the crying. He heard the comments you made. Every “I deserve this” and “I'm a failure.” He heard it all. 

 

“Stop.” He said. You looked at him finally. His eyes were not filled the scrutinizing hate you had assumed they would be. They were sad, they were worried. “I am not going to tell anyone about this.” You looked at him confused, tears still leaking out.

 

“What are you going to do?” You asked wearily. You stepped to the wall next to you and slid down it. You were defeated. Obviously the only answer is some kind of back mail or such.

 

“I'm going to help you.” The Medic came over and kneeled in front of you, meeting your eyes. Shock took you.

 

“You're going to…” You didn't finish the sentence. Your brain went a thousand miles a minute, or the closest it could in your tired state. “Can you… Can you fix me?” You questioned, hopeful. He smiled slightly, apparently amused by your question. 

 

“No, liebe, I cannot.” You looked back down. “But”, He reached a hand up to rest on your shoulder comfortingly. “I can help you get through this. You will never be “fixed” but you can get better.” He spoke to you gently. Tears started to well in your eyes again. “You have an addiction. Bulimia is a serious matter and besides, I can't have my teammate getting weak on the battlefield.” He said the last part teasingly, and you smiled slightly despite yourself. “Will you let me help you?” He asked finally. You met his eyes for a moment. They appeared so gentle and caring, but still held a fierceness. You considered your options. Say no, and he most likely reports you. Say yes, and you will have to stop. You will have to turn your back to every lesson, to every tip, trick, and habit you have gained over the years. Then you thought of your family who you were supporting and your teammates who would hate to see you suffer like this. Then to the man before you, who was obviously pained by your grievances. Finally you looked back up to him. 

“Yes. Please. I want to get better.” He smiled reassuringly and helped you to your feet. He brought over to the wash bin and directed your to swish water and clean your hands. You knew the drill, though. You did so, and swallowed a few gulps of water to prevent more erosion to your esophagus. It would still hurt tomorrow though. Afterwards, the two of walked back to your room together, his hand on your back for support. You wondered if was also because maybe he was worried you might try to make a run for it. Either way, it reassured you slightly. When you came to your room, he lead you to your bed and you sat down. The Medic gave a quick glance across your bedroom floor, eying the many wrappers. You were embarked and almost wanted to make an excuse but none came to you. You were filled with shame. But the Medic made no comment or disapproving face. He calmly bent down to pick up the wrappers and discarded them. He came up to the drawer of hoarded junk food and closed it. This whole situation was entirely bizarre to you and you had no idea what to say. You had imagined getting caught before, but this was never the result of any imaginings you might of had. 

 

“I know this is a difficult situation and I am sorry to cause you further stress. But this is not healthy, and it is dangerous.” He turned to you. “I just want to make sure you will always be around.” He looked away for moment. “I always want to be able to see that smile of yours.” He walked towards the door to leave.

 

“Medic”, you blurted. He turned back to you. “I'm… I'm scared.” He sighed, sorrow in his eyes. 

 

“I know you are. And that's okay.” He stepped back to the door. “Good night, liebe. I will see you tomorrow.” He left, leaving the soft click if the door to echo in your head alongside his words. 

 

“Good night, Medic.” You said despite his absence. You fell into deep sleep after some time. You were scared, but you knew things were going to be better from now on. Even if you relapse, even if you still had days where you hated yourself, and even if you never stopped having the urge to purge…. You knew things were going to be better.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Guten Morgen Heavy, Hunter.” He looked between you and the Heavy. The Pyro leaned across you and waved to the Medic. “Morning to you as well, Pyro.” Pyro leaned back to their side of the couch, apparently happy to have been greeted. Medic headed to the kitchen leaving you to your thoughts. He said he was going to help you. But what did that mean exactly? Therapy? Diet plans? Your mind raced with the sudden realness of the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I had this sitting around in my docs and decided to post it, still not sure if I will continue more. Let me know what you think.

The sun filtered through the window blinds, casting an annoying ray of light directly across your eyelids. You turned away from the light source, reaching your hands up to rub the sleep from your eyes. A sour taste was in your mouth reminding you of the bitter acid that graced it last night. Slowly you sat up ignoring the ache in your throat and stomach. You leaned over the side of the bed, taking in the same view you saw every day. Your bed which you were sat on rested in the far corner of the room, to the right of it a simple dark oak nightstand and window. On the wall across from you was your closet. To your left was a vanity with a stool tucked under it and on the wall next to was a dress the same colour as the night stand and the door. A few posters and photos were hung on the walls in an attempt to liven the room. You stood up, walking over to the closet to grab a shirt and then to the dresser. After fishing out fresh underwear and a pair dark slacks you started to dress yourself. Your chest ached from wearing your bra to bed so you decided to peel it off and put on a clean one. All the while you had to pull you eyes away from the mirror that sat on vanity. You had a ritual. The day after purging you always examined your face, and you did so now that you were dressed. Your fingers pressed into the sore swollen glands under your jaw. You decided you were going to bargain with Medic to get some prednisone for the swelling. Wait-- Medic? That’s right… You fully remembered now what had happened last night. It wasn’t a normal purge in the very least. Suddenly the fear that inspired your dreams last night rose in you. Your started to pace-- back and forth over and over. You must have looked like a zoo animal trapped in an enclosure too small for it. What were you going to do? There was no way you could face Medic, not after that! Shame took over you almost laughed at how ridiculous this all was. You can look a man in the eye and shoot them on the battlefield, but you can’t face the man who wants to help you. You looked the clock on your night stand. It was a ceasefire day, so Soldier wouldn’t be waking everyone till six o'clock. An hour later than usual wake up time. Except, it was already 8:30. Your anxiety clouded mind paused for a moment. Wait, surely there must be something wrong. There weren’t any alarms going off, obviously, but you figured you should check on the team. 

You stood at your bedroom door for a moment, listening for commotion. When there was none, you slowly crept out of your room and down the hall. You heard small talk and laughter-- the usual for a cease fire day. You walked into the commons to greeted by the Heavy. 

 

“ Dobroye utro, Hunter” He waved to from the table where he sat, setting down his book. 

 

“Good morning. Um, no wake up call?” You asked.  Heavy smiled.

 

“Not today. Good Doctor convinced Soldier to let team sleep in. Not quite sure how he managed, but thankful.” You let out a small chuckle. You looked around the room, spotting the Sniper and Spy sitting at a table in the corner. On a couch to the right of Heavy was the Pyro who appeared to watching  _ Tom and Jerry _ . They periodically giggled and clapped when the characters would pull some harebrained trick on each other. To your relief there was no sign of Medic. For now. You walked to the left to enter the dining room and kitchen. You opened the fridge and grabbed two bottles of water and retrieved a tea bag from the cabinet. You greeted Engie who was cooking breakfast. Normally you all took turns cooking, but Engie always claimed cease fire day breakfast. He was cooking the standard American breakfast-- Eggs, bacon, sausage, and toast. He always made a few extra sides like waffles or pancakes to make sure everyone would be happy. 

“Mornin’ Hunter! Kettles on the counter, already hot.” He smiled at you, and you were grateful for his offering. He was one of the few who noticed your odd eating habits, but he never prodded the matter. You poured the hot water into a mug and placed the teabag in to brew. Two bottles of cold water to boost your metabolism and a cup of green tea to add on to that every morning. You weren’t sure of the hot tea counteracted the cold water and you didn’t really care at this point. It was a ritual, and you were hydrated so what does matter anyways? You walked back into the commons area and took a seat on the couch. You pulled your legs up under you to get comfortable and set your tea on the table beside you. Opening the first bottle you took a long drink feeling the cold water move down your throat. It’s always a refreshing feeling after purging. 

The Pyro was still watching the same show, they waved at you giving a muffled “Hello!”

 

“Hi, Pyro.” You replied. You smiled contempt with the show and cozyness of the couch. “I used to watch this show all the time back home.” You said it in almost a melancholy sort of way.  Pyro looked at and cocked their head. “Yes, I watch these kinda shows! Or used to at least. Not a lot of time for that nowadays” Pyro nodded to you with a sound of agreement before going into a giggle fit upon seeing Jerry get Tom’s tail caught in a bear trap. Huh.

 

You looked to your left where heavy was still sat. “Hey, um, Heavy?”

 

“Yes?” You replied hardly looking up from his book. You shifted nervously, taking a drink of water.

 

“Have you seen Medic around?” You asked Heavy. He pushed his reading glasses further up his nose and lifted his head. 

 

“Da. Right there.” You followed his eyes to see Medic entering the room. He looked far more polished than he did last night. Somehow he always manages to look like he got a full eight hours of sleep despite having at most four hours. What he wore was identical to the previous night-- dark slacks, combat boots, beige vest, and white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. It was all brought together with a red tie. Unlike last night, his hair was evenly slicked back and his posture was strong.  Even on casual days he still remained formal. Go figure. 

 

“Guten Morgen Heavy, Hunter.” He looked between you and the Heavy. The Pyro leaned across you and waved to the Medic. “Morning to you as well, Pyro.” Pyro leaned back to their side of the couch, apparently happy to have been greeted. Medic headed to the kitchen leaving you to your thoughts. He said he was going to help you. But what did that mean exactly? Therapy? Diet plans? Your mind raced with the sudden realness of the situation. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was hard for me to write. I've read many stories where the love interest magically makes the reader or character better. Just being caught and hearing "I love you, don't do this" doesn't instantly make you happy with your body. It doesn't make you stop hating yourself and it doesn't make you stop being scared of food. It takes time, it takes help, and it takes will power. The same willpower many of us tell ourselves we have so much of when we skip a meal or restrict. I've been bulimic for almost five years now. Even when i go through periods where I hardly binge or purge, I still get the feeling. I still get the feeling of wanting to purge-- even after a normal meal. It's hard. And there isn't a magic word that can "fix" me. I am too scared to reach out for help, so maybe this story is just a way of venting. Oh well. The verse at the beginning is from Marina and the Diamonds "Teen Idle".
> 
> Okay, enough bumming you out! I wrote this on my phone so i hope it's okay. I hope you enjoyed reading. As always I would love to hear your thoughts on the story!


End file.
